


Déjà vu

by thescientificwriter



Category: The Bold Type, kadena - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 21:39:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13443942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescientificwriter/pseuds/thescientificwriter
Summary: She's been here before. Except this time, it's different.Déjà vu, the sense of familiarity, a feeling of recollection--a feeling like something has already happened, regardless of whether or not it happened.--This is a short one-shot retelling of the Kadena moments but in the future after Adena finally comes back to New York.





	Déjà vu

**Author's Note:**

> I was in my feels after the season 2 announcement y'all. So, I wrote it out.

_Deja visite._

She’s been here before. John F Kennedy International airport, Terminal 11.

She remembers standing in front of Gate 65, fear swallowing her whole, wondering if she’ll ever see her again. She remembers gripping her first-class plane ticket and Passport for dear life, dreading the necessity to make a choice between staying and going. In the end, she felt defeated of choosing logic and having to apologize for it.

She’s been here before. Except this time, she stands in the area behind the doors opposite of the gate; except this time, the only choice she has to make is to stay where she is standing and wait for her arrival.

She glances at the board above her head.

 

_10:35 AM_ | _Air Nazar_ | _Flight KA 2301_ | _Tehran_ | _Arrived_

It was only a matter of time until passengers from that flight walk through the doors in front of her.

She nervously clutches the stems of the flowers carefully wrapped in striated paper garlands. A texture far from the glossy paper of a plane ticket.

_Déjà vu._  

She’s seen this before. Comes through the door is the woman she’s been waiting for, head covered in a familiar red scarf, and her hand on her chest—this all seemed too familiar.

She remembers having to bear the sight of the red scarfed woman walking away from her, through the gates, to board the plane.

She’s seen this before. Except this time, the woman in the veil runs towards her, each step crescendos as does her heart beat.

“Adena.” It is all that she can muster as she wraps her arms around the smaller woman’s waist.

She looks into her eyes, not moving, taking in her presence. Her smile is unapologetic. She sheds tears of joy as she kisses her “hello,” forgetting the feeling of ever saying goodbye.

_Déjà entendu._

She’s heard this before. Mendelssohn’s violin concerto in E minor, blending with the sound of waves crashing against the waterfront. 

It’s same violinist, wearing his signature news boy cap and matching Houndstooth tweed jacket.

He nods at them with a smile, pleased to see the two familiar faces.

She’s heard this before. Except this time, there’s no smug voice demanding for “Free bird” to be played; except this time, there was no awkward silence between the two women; Except this time, there is only sound of the violin radiating with the feeling of being present.

 

_Deja senti_

She’s felt this before—the feeling of living in the moment. She is here, and so is the woman in her arms, sharing this musical moment of bliss.

“It’s a beautiful night.”

 

_Deja vecu._

She’s experienced this before—waking up in an apartment, in her underwear, in a bed, her bedside empty.

Except this time, she’s in her apartment, in her bed, and she knows why her bedside is empty.

She gets up and heads toward the living room. There, she found the woman doing here _salah_ —covered, kneeling on the floor.

“Hey.” The veiled woman notices her staring, and flips the corner of her prayer rug.

“I didn’t want to interrupt.” She said meekly.

“It’s ok.” The woman in front of her removes her coverings and walks toward where she is standing.

Their hands link.

“Are you praying every day?” She feels like she's asked her this before.

“Yes.” Since her departure, the photographer has never missed a single _salah_ since.

“I realized that every day is as important as the others.” And her prayers as important as the others, whether it is to ask for guidance or to give thanks.

“Nowadays, I’m feeling—thankful,”

“Oh.” She said with surprise, except this time, it was pleasant.

“Every day I thank _Allah_ for the days I am alive, for the days I’m here—especially for the days I’m here with you.”

 

_Deja rêvé_

She’s dreamed of this before—falling in love with the woman that standing before her.

 

Except this time, it’s not a dream—it’s real.

**Author's Note:**

> I appreciate any and all feedback, just don't be too harsh. I'm very sensitive :p


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